


What happens at Burning Man ... II

by wordsinthedark (VanScritto)



Series: What happens at Burning Man ... [2]
Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 16:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanScritto/pseuds/wordsinthedark
Summary: Carl was smart enough to pack one bag of clothes for the way home — clothes that have been sealed in plastic to stay free of Playa dust and grime — and carries it easily ahead of André into the elevator. André can't even carry himself properly after this week, so he finds Carl walking in a straight line quite impressive. It's Burning Man, still running through his bones.---Carl and André return from a trip to Burning Man and stay at a hotel for some rest until their flight leaves.





	What happens at Burning Man ... II

**Author's Note:**

> As always, zeraparker was the one to cheer me on, so this is basically all hers.

Everything in Reno is really fucking loud. Traffic, people, musicians in the street — hell, even the colors are _loud_ and that's not a thought André ever thought he'd have. But his head hurts and his skin is tingling and he really needs to go lie down somewhere.

The driver's side opens — much too loud, again — and a disheveled looking Carl pokes his head inside.

"You want to come in or no? They have like a suite or some shit left, so we're sharing a bathroom, but it's better than looking for another place."

André nods, at least he thinks he does because the pain gets momentarily worse, and Carl seems to understand. This is the third hotel they've gone to and yeah, maybe they should have considered pre-booking hotel rooms for after Burning Man. Carl should have thought of that, maybe, since he's been before and André is the virgin.

_André, the virgin_. The thought alone makes him grin.

He opens the passenger side and slides almost directly to the floor before righting himself. He can make it the few steps into the hotel, no problem, not at all. Just as long as the ground stops feeling like clouds, that would be pretty great.

Carl was smart enough to pack one bag of clothes for the way home — clothes that have been sealed in plastic to stay free of Playa dust and grime — and carries it easily ahead of André into the elevator. André can't even carry himself properly after this week, so he finds Carl walking in a straight line quite impressive. It's Burning Man, still running through his bones. The idiocy, the strangeness of a week in the desert have completely warped his mind. André never even took any of the pills offered to him and still, he feels like he's coming down from a high.

But when they do enter their suite and the sight of the bed closest to the door draws him in, he's held back by two strong hands first.

"No. Shower first. Trust me," Carl says, his dark voice vibrating through André's mind. He is too tired to fight, so he slips out of his clothes in the bathroom, stands under the spray of water that feels like a thunderstorm in his head until Carl knocks on the door — too _loud_ — and demands to leave him some hot water.

***

André doesn't remember how he got into the bed, but he wakes up in it, sheets tucked under his chin. They feel cool on his skin, like a caress when he moves to turn onto his back. The room is blessedly dark and oh so quiet.

Just like the rest of his brain for the first time in months.

André wants to enjoy this moment, before everything comes rushing back in, before Burning Man wears off. He settles a bit deeper into the sheets. It takes him a moment in all that quiet solitude to realize that there's a warmth next to him that's contradictory to the steady flow of cool air brushing over his face. Right then, a weight lands on his middle, underneath the sheets, the warmth creeping closer and it's too much but also comforting to have something on his body, grounding him.

"Sleep," Carl's voice demands groggily from the darkness and to André's surprise, he does.

***

The weight is gone the next time he wakes up.

It's a lot less dark now, and there is a rustling coming from somewhere within this small place. For a second, André thinks he's still in Black Rock, still at Burning Man and the rustling is in fact some music playing in the distance. But then he remembers the week is over and it's back to the real world now. The real world that … _Shit_.

He throws the covers off and tries to jump out of bed, getting dizzy immediately.

"The fuck are you doing?" Carl's voice sounds a little far away, but then he's right there next to André. "Maybe you should drink some water before you leap into battle?"

"Flights," André says, sounding garbled even to his own ears. Carl kneels down in front of him, helping him sit on the mattress and forces a cool plastic bottle into his hands.

"We missed them. It's fine."

That makes no sense, but so little has made sense in the past week that André decides it's not worth arguing. He drinks the water and lets Carl push him back into the mattress.

Into darkness.

***

Silence. Wonderful, beautiful silence.

It's dark again, the red numbers on the bedside table clock telling André it's around midnight. He sees them clearly, the numbers, the first thing he's seen clearly in days. Everything of the days prior is clouded in a haze. But that was why he'd agreed to come to Burning Man in the first place.

He reaches for his phone, the screen momentarily blinding him when he turns it on. It takes him a moment to turn the airplane mode off before he realizes that this won't do him any good, because he doesn't have the wifi set up. He's better off without an internet connection, hasn't needed to be connected last week, either. He _knows_ this and he's felt the freedom of leaving the phone somewhere while being out and about, just his camera as a weight in his hands. But fuck, lying here in the quiet darkness, he really is tempted to turn data roaming on _just because_ and not give a crap about the charges on his phone bill.

"Don't even think about it."

André almost drops his stupid phone. Next to him, Carl is lying on his side, his eyes still closed — as far as André can tell, at least — sheets draped lazily over his hips.

"Seriously," Carl murmurs, "just put it away. Get some sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"You're exhausted," Carl disagrees. "Don't make me take the phone away. Whatever is on there can wait another day until you're home."

André is a grown man and contemplates for a second to just say _screw it_ because Carl isn't the boss of him. But for some reason, the way Carl looks in this bed next to him, seemingly fast asleep, convinces him otherwise. He locks the phone and puts it face down on the floor.

Carl reaches out, pets André's chest softly as if to reward him for his mental strength, but he doesn't withdraw his hand after he's done. Instead, he slides it across André's skin, lower, until his arm is draped over André's stomach. It feels just like the night before, a comfortable warmth that presses him into the mattress.

Only this time, it's not enough to lull him back to sleep. And so André lies there, in the dark, listens to Carl's breathing evening out again and tries to concentrate on all the sensations in his body. His skin is still itchy, his bones restless, as if his body is still adjusting to the lack of stimuli. He feels like he could run a marathon right now, but his feet are hurting. Probably sunburnt. The ache in his head has dulled down, leaving space for thoughts.

Thoughts of Jev, that are coming back, trickling in.

André's fingers itch to pick up the phone again, but Carl's arm is heavy, a protective layer against André's stupidity.

Because really, there will be no message from Jev. Just like there hasn't been a message from him for two months now, ever since that one Instagram comment after André's announcement that he was leaving for Porsche.

_I'm kind of crying, too_ , it'd said. A farce, a lie, something cute for the fans, André is sure that that's what this was. Because Jev sure as fuck hadn't been crying when André had told him, when he'd told André to get out of his face, or when he'd gingerly put one arm around André for the team championship photo without looking at André even once.

He also hadn't been crying when he'd told André not to touch him during the championship party right before slinging an arm around Sam and wandering off to do fuck knows what.

André can't remember Jev shedding a single tear during all of this, but he can recount every single one of his own. Including the one that's making his way down the side of his face now, _fucking dammit_. He was supposed to be done with that. That's what Burning Man was for, to get some distance from the mess - and Carl's suggestion of drinking lots of alcohol, dancing to weird music and doing promiscuous things with as many people as he could find had sounded great.

And it _had been_ great, with André slipping into the scene seamlessly, as if the entryway to the camp had stripped him of the shields and guards that needed to be held up during all hours of the days. Maybe it was the fact that nobody really looked at him whenever he went anywhere with Carl — Carl's charming smile and body glittered abs had everyone's attention.

André untangles himself from Carl's limbs and steps out of bed, accidentally kicking his phone somewhere in the dark.

Well, not like he needs it anyway.

***

"Are you watching me sleep, you creepy idiot?" Carl rubs at his eyes, turning onto his back in the bed and André tries to ignore how good his abs look moving with the motion. What happens at Burning Man stays at Burning Man.

"I'm bored and you're not allowing me phone time, what else should I do?"

"I don't know, _sleep_?"

"I slept all day yesterday. What were you doing in that time?" Carl turns his head and scrunches his nose, doesn't answer. André gasps in mock shock and slaps Carl's chest. "Where _you_ watching _me_ sleep like a creepy idiot?"

"Get off me."

Carl kicks the blankets away and pushes himself off the bed with surprising agility, trotting into the bathroom without a look back. Which is a good thing because André realizes that _Carl is naked_ and this time, there's no alcohol in his brain to muddle the sight of Carl's very muscular butt. Sure, there are memories from just days ago, but they pale in comparison to the real thing. André wasn't concentrating on Carl then, there were so many other things to see that it didn't register properly.

But it does now.

As does the fact that they've been sharing a bed even though there is another perfectly acceptable bed at the other end of the room — sheets unruffled.

In the bathroom, Carl turns the shower on, and it spurs André into action. Carl left the door slightly ajar, and when André steps through, Carl is looking right at him.

"I booked new flights for early tomorrow morning," Carl says conversationally, rubbing shampoo on his head. The motion draws André's focus to his biceps, strong and lean. Carl has the body of someone who works out to look good, putting on muscle that is aesthetically pleasing and not just functional. He's definitely succeeding at that. And he knows it, judging by the grin on his face. "Do you want to come join me?"

It's an irresistible offer, really, and André takes the few steps towards Carl.

"What are your plans for the meantime?", André asks and tries to sound as innocently curious as possible.

"I don't know," Carl says and moves around so that André is directly under the spray of water, grabs the shampoo bottle and starts lathering André's hair. "I'm not sure if Reno has a lot to offer. I don't tend to stay here long."

"You could have woken me up." The last word is almost a sigh, because Carl's hands on André's scalp are magical, digging into all the right spots and scratching the skin in circles. When Carl doesn't answer and instead starts to wash the soap out of André's hair, André opens his eyes. "I mean it. You should have woken me up."

"Maybe I just didn't want to." Carl shrugs, still rubbing circles on André's scalp, slowly moving lower towards his neck and shoulders. "Maybe …" He trails off. There's a look in his eyes that André can't quite name, but he gets lost in it and the motion of Carl's hands.

This could be the last time they see each other. Well, not the _last_ time ever, but the last time like this, on the same side of the line instead of facing off for Jev's sake. André will be in a different garage next season and Carl won't have any reason to wander by, have a quick chat or pat André on the back for good luck. Jev would never allow it.

André finds he doesn't mind that Carl didn't wake him up.

"Thank you," he murmurs when Carl turns off the shower. "For all of this. I really needed it, I—" He doesn't get any further, because Carl's suddenly slams his mouth to André's.

They've done this before, intoxicated and overheated, giddy in the early morning hours at a rave. But it felt nothing like this. And André is sure that out of all the kisses he's shared these past few days, this is the one he will remember.

"I have an idea on how to pass the time." Carl pours the words into André's mouth between kisses. "If you want."

"Yes," André says. "I want you to fuck me."

Carl pulls back and lifts an eyebrow in surprise, but the reaction is short lived when André presses closer to Carl's body to step out of the shower. They don't bother drying off, instead André rummages through his bag of toiletries for the lube he always keeps there. Carl is faster, procuring lube and condoms as well from his bag. André takes it as a good sign that Carl is prepared like that.

When Carl leaves the bathroom, he doesn't head to the bed they slept in but rather the other, immaculate one, and drops the utensils on the sheets. Out here, in daylight, André almost feels self-conscious like this might be a terrible idea after all — Carl and André have fooled around in the desert but it never went this far. Maybe they shouldn't cross that line now that they're sober.

Carl seems to have the exact same thoughts, staring at André by the bathroom door almost wistfully. He opens his mouth to say something, but André just shakes his head.

"It's Burning Man," he says quietly and Carl grins.

André steps towards Carl before he loses his nerve, reaching up for a kiss. They're roughly the same height and still André feels like Carl is huge, towering over him. It's a different dynamic for him; usually, he is the one who is taller, calling the shots. It's nice to feel Carl's arms around him, pushing and pulling to maneuver André onto the mattress without breaking the kiss. Carl licks into André's mouth, pressing their bodies together when he lies down on top of André.

He takes his time, kissing Andre's mouth, the corners of his lips, his cheekbones, his jaw; licking, nipping and biting, mapping out André's face. It's such a contrast to the first kiss they shared, this one being unhurried and almost gentle, and as much as André is enjoying the attention, Carl's hard cock is pressed against his hip in a promise he desperately wants to collect on. With the limited movement he has underneath Carl's weight, he manages to spread his legs.

Carl lets out a sigh which turns into a groan when André bucks up his hips.

"You were going to fuck me," he says and he loves the look of desire that crosses Carl's face at the words. André has learned early on how powerful words can be, has used them as weapons in fights, negotiations and seductions, and _fuck_ if he doesn't get off on seeing them take effect. Especially now that Carl kisses him again, licks at his jaw and moves lower, scratching his teeth over André's nipple, sucking a bruise into the skin of his ribs. The lower Carl moves, the wider André opens his legs, almost obscenely so, trying to steer Carl along to his hard and throbbing dick.

But when Carl finally reaches André's hips, he dips his head down to the inside of his thigh, placing a chaste kiss there.

"Fuck, you're such a tease."

"Do I hear a complaint?" Carl bites the sensitive flesh that is dangerously close to André's balls.

"No, you don't. You hear me asking you very nicely to please put your mouth on my dick."

Carl chuckles, his breath ghosting over André's erection. "That's not what I heard. Maybe you want to rephrase that request?"

André leans onto his elbows to look down at Carl and tell him in no uncertain terms to get on with the sex, but is met with the sight of Carl licking his lips suggestively. He moves one hand, no real intention behind it, but Carl reacts quickly and presses it into the mattress.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" A shudder runs through André at the way Carl's voice sounds — quiet, but without any room for arguments. Should he be worried about this? It's been years since he gave up control, since he's let someone else fuck him instead of doing it the other way around. He is good at _doing_ , not so good at giving up control. Then again, him surrendering some control was the point of going to Burning Man, wasn't it?

"Please," André says, weighing the word in his mouth, considering the taste of it. "Suck my dick."

It's not quite the polite begging André thinks Carl was hoping for, but it's enough. Carl bends down and places a gentle kiss to the base of André's cock, then wraps his hand around it for a slow stroke. More kisses follow, making André whine and buck his hips ever so slightly, until finally, _finally_ , Carl has mercy on André and sucks the tip into his mouth.

"Yes, thank you," André hears himself say and closes his eyes to the sensation of Carl's hot mouth on his cock. Fuck, Carl is good at this, so good that André doesn't even notice Carl grabbing for the small tube of lube and spreading some on his fingers. He only notices the gentle pressure between his cheeks, not quite _there_ , yet. He shudders, involuntarily.

"Is this okay?", Carl asks and André nods, eyes screwed shut. "We don't have to do this." The air of authority from earlier is replaced with a gentleness and when André opens his eyes again, he can see Carl studying him.

"I want to," André says, lifting his leg to underline his statement and give Carl better access. "I just … haven't in a while."

Also, this wasn't how he imagined this would go. When he'd asked to be fucked, he'd thought he'd end up on his front, face pressed into a pillow with Carl's weight on top of him. But Carl doesn't seem to share that idea, because he makes no move to let André turn around. Instead, he watches André's face as he slowly presses his fingers forward, against André's hole.

"Lie down," Carl commands and André just follows the lead. He tries to relax, to not concentrate on the intrusion and then Carl's mouth is back on his cock and that helps tremendously.

Carl distracts André with his mouth, sucking and licking in a way that keeps André on the edge but not quite tipping him over while he works first one, then two fingers into André's hole, scissoring him open.

"I want to fuck you like this," Carl says suddenly. The confusion must show on André's face because he adds, "I want to see your face."

André just nods because _yeah, he kind of figured_ and also Carl's fingers just hit André's prostate and instead of words all that comes out of his mouth is a groan.

"You need to get on with it, then," André says after a moment, "or I will cum before you're even in me."

"Patience," Carl grumbles and adds a third finger for a few quick strokes, before cursing and withdrawing them to grab a condom from the bed. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"You _didn't_ warn me," André quips and gets shut up with a kiss for it. It's intense, none of that slow and gentle stuff from before, a good testament of how worked up Carl is.

He aligns himself with André's hole and André tries to prepare himself for the discomfort of being taken like this; discomfort he asked for, but discomfort nonetheless. It doesn't come. There's pressure as Carl pushes into André, but he slides in easily, only knocking the breath out of André on the last stretch when his hips connect with André's ass.

"Fuck," they both curse at the same time and Carl untangles himself from André's embrace far enough to look into André's face. André moves his hips tentatively, causing Carl to groan again.

"You can move," André says. And just for good measure, adds, "please."

Carl sets a slow pace at first, unblinkingly studying every movement on André's face before picking up speed, and eliciting a small moan from André every time he hits his sweet spot just right. It doesn't take long at all, their drawn out foreplay having André already on the brink of orgasm, and he comes with a desperate groan that neither one of them makes an attempt to keep quiet. Carl fucks him through it and it only takes a few more thrusts to follow André over the edge.

***

France welcomes them back with cool temperatures and grey skies.

Carl is wearing his signature white shirt, first few buttons open and André has a hard time to remind himself not to stare. One foot onto Parisian soil and Burning Man is over; real life begins again. Even if André will carry several reminders on his skin for the next few days.

They're the last ones to step off the plane, awkwardly trotting along the gangway in silence. André has a connecting flight to Marseille and he wonders if what they did will hang over their heads from now on. But when they enter the airport, Carl claps André on the back in the way he always has.

"This is where I leave you," he says, dragging André into a tight hug. "Get home safe."

"Yeah." André lets go of Carl and for a moment, he tells himself that anything could happen. But nothing does. "See you in November."

Carl just nods and then turns to walk to the baggage area. André turns away, too — he will not be caught staring after anyone, no matter how great their ass looks. Instead, he drags his phone from his backpack and turns it on while finding his new gate.

He'd already checked his texts and emails using the wifi at the airport in Reno, so he's surprised at the unread message that pops up on his screen.

It's from Jev.

_Heard you went to Burning Man. Maybe you can show me some photos some time._


End file.
